


Incentives, Adrenaline, Untouchable.

by orphan_account



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games (2012) RPF, Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Adrenaline, BDSM, Bondage, Hot, Hunger Games, M/M, S&M, Slash, Tracker Jackers, Underage - Freeform, baker boy, career pack, careers, catoxpeeta, ceeta, ceeto, epinephrine, incentives, katniss - Freeform, pato - Freeform, untouchable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-08
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-03 07:13:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/378715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of loosely linked CatoxPeeta oneshots.</p><p>Incentives: Peeta's part of the career pack, but refuses to tell anything he knows about Katniss. Clove has her doubts on his usefulness. Cato's getting frustrated, but has a plan to get him to talk by seducing him. Does Peeta give into it? Takes place in the first couple days of the games in the career camp, BEFORE the tracker jacker scene. Specifically, the day before Seneca pushes Katniss back towards the careers with the forest fire. CatoxPeeta slash with a big juicy lemon. Warnings: D/s, dubcon, bondage. </p><p>Adrenaline: When Katniss' tracker jacker trap injures Cato greatly, Peeta makes sure he'll be okay. Written from Peeta's POV. A slightly altered series of events during the tracker jacker scene. Catoxpeeta, no lemon, but shitloads of fluff and Cato being a bit more humanistic than normal. Brief nudity but no explicit lovins.</p><p>Untouchable: Peeta runs away from the Career camp after Clove tells him it's time to go, and Cato comes to find him. His little baker boy, the one he owns. Cato doesn't like to lose things he owns. In the end, there are three. Fluff, and then kinky lemon! CatoxPeeta, M is very justified. Bondage, D/s, dubcon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Incentives

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, I know this is a break from what I normally write. Hunger Games! Yay! I'm actually, secretly, a pretty big fan. This idea just popped into my head one night, and I had to make it real. I'm sorry to disappoint you all with a non-update to my Eagle fandom stuff, but I've been writer's blocked for that for months. So enjoy some Hunger Games in the meantime!
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Hunger Games and don't intend to profit off of this. All credit for the characters goes to Suzanne Collins and Lionsgate. I'm just borrowing them.
> 
> Warnings: Slightly underage man lovins, although both of them are 16, so they can legally consent. Still, if that, or CatoxPeeta in general squicks you, leave now. Slight D/s, dubcon, bondage and angst.

"It's never going to work." The jet-haired girl skips through the stony stream, best hunting knife fast in her hand as the gamemakers' sun dips below the artificial horizon.

"Clove, hear me out." Her companion is far less graceful, stumbling over hidden roots and grasping saplings for balance. The forest doesn't play to his brute strength.

Clove ignores Cato's plea, securing her left arm around a nearby oak. "You're going to fall in if you step there." Cato, just about to shift his weight, steps back from the slab of rock. On second thought, it looks rather wet. "How did you even pass wilderness at the academy?" She stretches out her hand to Cato across the brook.

"I don't need your help. I'm fine." He steps back into the grass and checks his traction, and then bounds forward to the brook's edge. "You forget that-" he leaps and bend his legs, and connects with the shore on Clove's side, "-I did pass, and with a higher grade than you."

"Bullshit. Then you'd definitely know how to set these traps without my help." Clove edges up the precarious, cut slope and speeds into the forest. The sun is halfway gone by now, and with the manmade light fading over the arena she's out of Cato's eyeshot quickly. Cato prods his foot into the slope's loam, searching for handholds to assist his ascent. "Don't even think of climbing there, Mr. Survivalist." Clove's voice rings out from upstream, where her trap gathers all the fish that glide with the water's flow. The quick, single splash lets Cato know tonight's dinner is caught.

And just as the root reveals itself for Cato's purchase, Clove returns with three trout speared on her blade. "Hungry?" With no reply save Cato's loathsome stare, she slides down the slope to where Cato stands. "If I were you, I wouldn't be so concerned about District 12, for the love of God."

"She got an eleven for a reason."

"For her skills with a bow, which we have."

"It proves she's a good hunter, which means she knows the forest better than we do."

"Speak for yourself." The digital sun sends its final maroon rays toward them before the arena slips into night's pocket. Clove crosses the creek, leading the way across the choicest stones, where Cato trails. "Lover boy knows what she's like. That's why we have him."

"Lover boy spends the entire day in an apron frosting cakes. His only real use is finding her." Cato hauls himself into the forest with Clove's assistance, swallowing his pride. "And he's suspiciously silent."

"He said on national television that he's straight, Cato. You're not going to fish anything out of him." The moon begins to slowly rise, shedding light with which they walk by. Cato crashes through the underbrush and keeps his hand fast around his own knife.

"You say that like we haven't lied on national television."

"Thank you for destroying our entire base of sponsors."

Cato takes her by her shoulder and swivels her around. "Stop beating around the bush and admit I'm right. You've seen the way he glances at me."

"Alright, maybe. But you think that by seducing him, he's gonna spill all his beans?" Clove brandishes her knife at him, the fish flopping as she gesticulates. "If anything he'll be angry at you and leave, and you'll spoil our only chance at finding her."

"Then we kill him. He's not the daintiest in the forest. He won't be hard to find."

"Neither are you, and you keep worrying your socks off about lover boy's wet dream." The landmarks are familiar now. Cato knows they are close to camp. It's his last chance.

"So it's a gamble. But any way it turns out, we win. We find out where she is and we kill her, or we kill him, get rid of the dead weight and kill her only possible ally."

"Eleven's still out there. You don't know which side they'll join."

"That's beside the point." The tips of the tarp tents peek through the brush. "She'll still be weakened. Give it a chance."

Clove's head shakes in dismay as they plod through into the clearing. "The blood is on your own hands."

The rest of the pack has gathered around the middle of the clearing, where Marvel has placed the hotplate and solar battery, which has charged all day in the artificial sunbeams. Their incoherent chatter quiets as they see Clove approach with food to fill their aching stomachs.

Taking place by Marvel, Clove slices open each fish and begins to prepare dinner, while Cato lightens down by Peeta. Blue eyes stare at the ground, the baker's interests directed at the pebbles in the soil. Cato observes him closely, watching as the skin of his fingers wears away the detritus as he rolls the pebbles in his hands. "Nervous habit?"

Cato's question startles the boy, and Peeta glances up quickly, his blush unseen in the moon's low light. "It… ah-… it just reminds me of rolling marzipan. You know, anything to remind you of home." He can't tell if Cato's confused visage is feigned, but he continues. "Marzipan… it's almonds and sugar in a paste. You can shape it like clay… usually I make the miniature fruit on wedding cakes with it."

"Isn't District 12 a bit poor for almonds?" Cato tugs his feet up to his chest, crosslegged, and cocks his head, earning him a cursory glance from Clove. He straightens his head again as Peeta turns to answer.

"Almonds come from a fruit like a peach." Their eyes match and Cato raises his smile slightly. Peeta glances back to his pebbles. Those brown eyes were too warm. "There are peach groves in 12. You can substitute the insides of the pit for almonds."

"Well I'm sure it's all just as well if you're making it. You know what you're doing." Another glance from Clove, which Cato turns to meet. Peeta glances upward, expecting the warmth of Cato's eyes, meeting his cheek instead. Following Cato's gaze he meets Clove briefly, and then peeks down to inspect her handiwork.

"Wait!" Peeta calls out. In her hand, Clove holds the guts of the trout. "Don't toss those. You can bait traps for raccoons with them." Clove glances to him inquisitively while Marvel and Cato chuckle.

"Looks like you don't know everything about the forest, Ms. Wilderness Class Kissass." Marvel's quip earns him a playful punch from Clove. "Cato told me all about your time at the academy." She grimaces as she empties the entrails into a flask from her sack.

Cato throws his arm around Peeta's shoulders. He expects the critical stare from Clove, but ignores it. The fish sizzle on the hotplate. "You're more useful than you look, lover boy." Cato tugs him closer and their bodies touch. He can feel the shiver.

"It's… it's getting a bit cold." Peeta tries to write off the next couple shivers as Cato's slender fingers caress his shoulders up and down. "The raccoon trap thing… a tip from my mentor."

"Too bad there's no bread to bake. It'd sure be warm in your kitchen." Cato lets his arm fall away as Marvel passes two sides of trout to them. "Eat up, lover boy." Cato passes the trout to Peeta, and their eyes meet again. This time, the baker's blush is deep enough that it shines through the moonlight's best efforts.

\---  
iixii  
\---

Crickets chirp. The gamemakers refuse to bring the sunrise yet. Burrowing through the thin tarp, the light of the computerized moon allows Cato just enough vision to unwrap himself from Clove's side, where they huddle together for warmth. By Cato's estimate three hours have passed, time enough for lover boy to settle into his tent and hopefully fall asleep. Cato doesn't want Peeta expecting him. Carefully Cato sits up and edges out of the tent, squinting into the indigo haze of the night. Ahead of him he spots the gleam of the polished pebbles, arranged in a neat mound in front of the tent opposite his.

And of course, there were the blue eyes gleaming through the haze as well. "Can't sleep, twelve?" Cato says quietly, kneeling down and crawling into the baker's tent.

"It's just a bit unnerving. Knowing they could flip a switch and end us." Peeta's gaze doesn't meet Cato's eyes, so Cato sidles closer to the baker.

"Well, they usually leave the careers be until the very end. We should be okay for the time being."

Peeta snorts. "You worried about having to kill your little friends once the time comes?"

"I'm more worried of your little girlfriend killing us first." Cato puts a finger to the blonde boy's jawline to grab his attention. "You seen any sign of her?"

Peeta's hand brushes away the finger, but he turns his head to find the brown eyes and soft smile welcoming him. He chuckles. "She's not my girlfriend." He hesitates. "Yet. And honestly, I have no idea where she is. She's nimble. Good at evading. Things you need to be a hunter. My opposite, really." He glances down.

"Come on, you're strong," Cato pleads, putting his hand to Peeta's firm bicep. "I bet you could lift me if you had to." It seems the ice refuses to break. He moves in closer.

"Cato, what are you getting at?" Peeta wraps his arms around his tucked-up legs as Cato's arm wraps around his shoulder again.

"Two strong guys like you and me. We're in the same boat. Out of our element. We've got to stick together to make it." The last words he whispers as he grows close to Peeta's ear. "Relax. Aren't you cold? You're shivering. You need company." He puts a hand to Peeta's chest and pushes softly. Something inside Peeta gives, and he rolls back into the forest floor and lets his legs fall as he lies under Cato's touch. "I've seen the way you look at me. Stealing a glance when you think I'm not paying attention." Cato rolls out on top of him, taking hold of the baker's hands and pinning them above his head. He whispers, "On TV you said you came here with the girl you crushed on. But now, Mr. Mellark, something tells me you have an eye out for more than one of us."

"Cato, I-… I don't know where you got that impression from but-…" It's useless. His quickening heart and breath betray him. He starts over. "I'm not gay, I like girls and I like curves and not muscles and-"

"Bullshit, baker boy. You like muscles. You like muscles keeping you in place. You like these muscles dominating you, don't you?" He smiled and edged his face closer to Peeta's, which shone with light sweat. "It's okay, Peeta. I'm not a fucking bumpkin from coal country. There are lots of gay guys in 2. Don't be ashamed. I'm not going to burn you at the stake for liking dick." He kicks off his shoes to match Peeta's already-bare feet, and begins to play with them.

"But I-… I don't like guys, and I don't like dick."

"Then why is yours hard?" Peeta's whimper comes as Cato rolls into him. "If you didn't want this you could have thrown me off you and killed me easily by now. You want me." Peeta doesn't respond, but only stares, pleading, into the brown eyes above. "Katniss never gave you what you wanted. Why should she have you?" Somehow, though nearly impossible, Cato comes even closer to Peeta's mouth. "Give up on your girl on fire. I know who you're really on fire for."

Peeta closes his eyes and bridges the gap. Lips meet and sparks fly, Peeta rolling up into the warm body above. Cato releases the baker's hands and lets them feel across his back and shoulders while he runs his own through the blonde's soft locks. Their lips are swollen and beet red, and Peeta lets the career's tongue trespass into his mouth to run over his teeth and cheeks, the warmth making Peeta fear he could melt into the ground.

Slowly Cato inches his hands down across Peeta's chest, kneading the muscle as he goes, making Peeta squirm and moan softly into their kissing mouths. Peeta's hands find the hem of Cato's shirt as Cato's find his, and slowly they free themselves from the fabric separating them, pulling the black garbs over their heads to somewhere they are no longer a distraction. "You waste no time," Peeta whispers.

"Shut your mouth, lover boy," comes the harsh reply as Cato silences Peeta with his hand, Peeta's wet lips moistening his palm. His lips trail down Peeta's strong chest, igniting fireworks at every contact as he beelines downward across the blonde's stomach. "They just couldn't wash the smell of bread off you, huh? Must be burnt into your skin." Cato inhales deeply, relishing in the smell of browning crust on Peeta's stomach. "I'd love to have a taste. It smells heavenly." Another shiver comes from Cato's captive, who whimpers softly into his hand.

Cato releases Peeta's mouth, and his relieved, heavy breaths fill the air of the tent. Cato brings his hands to the waist of Peeta's pants, just above the tent perking through them. "Someone in the Capitol is about to cream their pants," he teases, tugging lightly as he bites off the button with his teeth. "Show me how much you want me, Peeta."

Peeta closes his eyes as his breath quickens again. "I want you to… to touch me, Cato." There's gravel in his voice, made wet from Cato's sweet breath filling his lungs.

"More than you want Katniss to?" The zipper comes down at Cato's prodding.

Peeta's voice grows louder. "So much… more. So much more."

"I don't believe you, baker boy. Tell me more." He tugs the black jeans halfway down to Peeta's knees. His black boxer briefs stand tall and proud. Peeta whimpers again and buries his hands in Cato's hair.

"I want you to do everything to me. I want you to feel me and suck me and-" Cato bats away Peeta's hands.

"Beg for it like the little bitch you are, baker boy." He tucks Peeta's hands under his buttocks to keep them from distracting him. He's in total control of the blonde worming under his every caress.

"Take me, please take me. I'll do anything. Don't stop, please." The desperation shows in his pleading.

"Good. But I need more, my little admirer." Cato's lips wrap around the tip of the tent, teasing Peeta as he sucks him through the cloth.

"Cato, I'm yours. Anything you want-" Peeta yelps and arches his back from Cato's ministrations - "Anything for this. Just do it now."

"You little gay boys are so predictable. It's just like at the academy…" In one swift tug, Cato frees Peeta's cock from its cloth prison and rips the garment in two, settling around his knees. Peeta whimpers against the cold air of the night, and Cato edges close to his hardened length. "Tell me, does your oven ever get this hot?"

Peeta has to contain a scream. He nearly wakes the camp with his moans as Cato's mouth descends around him. A string of curses spills from his lips, and sweat rolls down his face. "Cato, yes, please… Aaah, God, don't stop…" It has only been a minute, but Peeta feels the edge coming quickly. "Cato, I'm going to…" By instinct he frees his hands and lets them wander into Cato's hair.

And that's when the world comes crashing down, because Cato stops. With one final trail up Peeta's length, he surfaces and pulls himself up onto Peeta's chest. The baker winces as his sensitive length grinds against the rough cloth of Cato's pants. "You think you're in control, huh?" Cato grasps both of Peeta's hands, and his smile drops. "Don't you know you're my little bitch?" His brown eyes harden into impregnable stones as he stares directly into Peeta's innocent blue.

"I didn't mean to… to-to take control. Please, I-I need this, Cato."

"And I need something, too. We're protecting you so you can give us information on your girlfriend." Cato's free hand finds a coil of rope on the tent floor. "You need to hold up your end of the deal." He brings the rope to Peeta's hands and fasts them together, and secures the free ends to an exposed root peeking up through the ground above Peeta's head.

"I told you, I don't know anything about where she is." Cato grinds into Peeta again, and he hollers from the sandpaper feel against his length.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Now give me what I want, and you'll get what you want." His stare never breaks as he inches his hands down Peeta's sides to caress his firm ass. Slowly his right hand snakes around to Peeta's cock and begins to tug. "Tell me, my little beggar."

Peeta's squirming starts again as Cato uses his free hand to tug down his own pants. "Aaah… I saw something…" Peeta feels Cato's cock as it tents through his boxers and presses into his crotch. It's becoming too much. Peeta knows the edge is coming. "Oh… gyah… she's a hunter…"

"And?" Cato came closer to his face. Peeta could smell himself on Cato's breath; the smell of hearty, crusty bread, sweat and the unmistakable scent of sex. He met Cato's lips again and let Cato's smell flow over him, of musk and cool mountain breeze.

"I-… I saw her in the… at training." Cato tugs down his briefs and breaks the kiss only to spit into his palm. He takes them both in hand and begins to stroke, sending lightning through Peeta from the warmth, the want and the roughness of the rope holding him down.

"Oh yeah? Where?" Cato's voice grows playful as he dips back down into Peeta's mouth.

"Hunting station… she was practicing making… oh my god Cato… snares. She makes them funny, like in a… figure eight. Cato! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna come." He counts down the seconds in his head. "I saw her snares… across the brook… through the forest... aah! By the outcrop…" He can't control his speech any longer.

Cato only speeds up in his strokes, bringing their cocks closer. He's keen too, sitting on the edge. His own voice begins to stutter. "Tell me how much you want me, Peeta. Tell me." Peeta only moans inconherently. "Come on, Peeta, you're mine. Say it!" His voice grows louder.

"Aaaah, Cato, I-I'm yours, I'm yours- I'll do anything- do everything, please, you control me completely, I'm yours, you control me, you have me…" Peeta was lost in his moans again.

"You're goddamn fucking right, I do." Peeta's moans and yelps were louder than ever. "Come for me, Peeta, come for me." Cato edges away from his mouth and starts kissing down the baker's tan neck. Peeta arches his back up into Cato's warm body, his hands struggling against the roughness of the rope chafing his wrists.

With one final stroke, Peeta is coming, sending streams everywhere across Cato's hand and length and across his broad chest. "Cato! Cato, Cato!" he moans as the euphoria rips from his crotch across his entire body. He can't stop his incoherent curses as they tumble out of his mouth once more.

"That's right, baker boy, you're mine!" Cato speeds faster and faster until he throws himself over the edge, his essence cascading across his hand and onto Peeta's stomach in stream after stream. He bites into Peeta's shoulder as he rides the waves of his orgasm, making sure his teeth leave a mark. "Don't you fucking forget you're mine."

They pant in the darkness as they slowly descend from their mutual elation. Cato brings his hand, dripping with their passion, to his mouth, and licks every finger clean. "Can't have the others knowing, can we?" He dips back into Peeta's mouth, and lets Peeta's tongue taste, desperate for more of him. Cato falls away and licks down Peeta's chest, taking as much as he can before taking the remains of Peeta's briefs and wiping them both down.

It's only then, as Cato unties the rope that binds him to the ground, tugs up his pants and huddles close for warmth, that Peeta comes crashing down. As Cato wraps his arms too tightly around Peeta's stomach, he grows sick.

Betraying his true love for a petty release. Selling Katniss out for sex. That's all he is. A whore. Used. A traitor. He opens his mouth to speak. But what is he going to say?

"Nobody's going to know, Peeta." Cato puts a finger to his lips. "Now sleep. We need our rest for the hunt tomorrow."

Peeta knows he's not talking about animals.


	2. Adrenaline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Katniss' tracker jacker trap injures Cato greatly, Peeta makes sure he'll be okay. A slightly altered series of events during the tracker jacker scene. Catoxpeeta, no lemon. Brief nudity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to try a stream-of-conciousness style for this one. Enjoy! Warnings: Brief nudity. Nothing else serious.

A crash. There was a loud crash. The crash of an egg hitting the floor, but a thousand times louder. Like thunder. And then a buzz. Real eggs don't explode with hundreds of wasps. But that one did.

I dreamt the same dream as the night before, wishing to be back in my kitchen, the little summer kitchen in the backyard, beside the peach grove. I remember Dad fixing it up for me for my 10th birthday. Before then, the summer kitchen was even worse than most buildings in 12. The roof was riddled with holes, the floorboards were all loose and the walls were infested with ants. But in a month, and with a few week's profit from the bakery, the summer kitchen became my space, with a coal stove, a full set of cabinets, a water pump and a fully stocked larder.

"A chef needs his own space, just like artists need their studios. A place to experiment, try new things. Learn right from wrong." I miss his voice. "Peeta Mellark, one day you're going to be just as good a baker." He even put in a bay window and a door facing out to the road that runs behind the bakery. He said that the summer kitchen was my bakery, and when I wasn't helping Mom bake the bread, churn the butter, decorate the cakes or tend the chickens I could go in there and create whatever I wanted. My weekly allowance became a few cups of flour, some yeast, some baking soda. And when the train came from the Capitol once a month, an ounce or two of chocolate. Sweets, cookies and muffins and scones, quickly became my specialty. I made some money here and there, selling to classmates and even the occasional Peacekeeper.

It's just before dawn on a Sunday. Dad's bakery is closed for the single day of rest. The sun just peeks into the sky, tinting everything peach orange in the morning light. I fill the bucket with coal from the hopper, just enough for the oven to run for an hour or two. The flagstones through the peach grove lead me to my bakery's door, through the tall grasses snaking their way around the trunks of the peach trees and in between the stones. The lock sticks like always when I turn the key, and the door creaks open after some effort. It's not a very large space, but the cream-colored walls striped with yellow are warm and welcoming as gold flows in through the bay window. I flip the paper card in the window. 'Open for business'.

I load the coal in the oven and light a match. It takes a few minutes for the oven to warm up, and I keep the back door to the bakery open so I don't bake along with my cookies. The larder has a clutch of eggs and a little butter. I assemble my ingredients and pull my apron from its hook. It's a hand-me-down from Dad, and even though every day for six years it's been exposed to the heated, sweet-scented air of my bakery, it still smells of his signature hearty bread. It's huge on me; its end flaps around my ankles and the strings are long enough that I can loop them around my back and onto my front, making it easier to tie securely. I pull the strings tight and feel safe in the apron's embrace.

The recipe's finicky, but I can remember it all by memory. Every step must be in order; one after the next. The regularity of it comforts me. A cup of flour, a teaspoon of soda, a dash of salt. You've got to be precise with dry ingredients; it's all chemistry and chemical reactions. Level them off and mix them together. A cup of butter and a cup of maple sugar. Beat them until the sugar's evenly spread in the butter. Harder than it sounds, but the exercise is good for my arms. I run through the next steps in my mind; mixing the eggs and vanilla, putting the dry and wet together, adding the oats, forming the cookies and baking. The sugar finally looks even after ten minutes or so. I break out in a light sweat from the elbow grease and heat.

A single egg. Fold into the butter and sugar. I find the largest one in the larder. I can crack them one-handed; it's a skill you develop ove-

Shit, dropped it. Damn sweaty palms. Before the egg even touches the ground, while it's still speeding in midair, my hand instinctively reaches for the salt.

And then, a crack. Like thunder. A thousand times louder than I'm used to. I blink and I'm not in my bakery anymore. It's a forest. As far as I can see, anyway. Where's my pristine butter and sugar? The ground is strewn with twigs and leaves. There's the egg. But it was a white egg I dropped, not brown, and it definitely wasn't that big. And what the hell is the black cloud coming out from it?

A pained, torturous scream. Right then, my mind clears in an instant. I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games. A part of the Career Pack. And that egg is a wasps' nest. The cloud...

Tracker jackers. Adrenaline pumps into my limbs and in three seconds I'm barreling into the forest. Trees fly by; my feet are acting on instinct, taking orders from my subconscious. Five seconds and the rest of my mind catches up. Water. The brook we chased Katniss across yesterday. I don't dare turn my head; if I should lose my balance now it'd mean death. I stumble over the roots hidden in the tall grasses; squirrels dart up trees as I speed past. There was a massive rocky outcrop by the brook; a deep swimming hole underneath. That's where we found her. That's where it's deepest.

I can see the edge of the forest ahead, the rocks in the distance bathed in the fiercest light. I'm sprinting now, I can hear the rush and crash of flowing water. Life or death. I bound into the blinding sunlight and leap from the outcrop into the deepest-looking part of the brook. A splash, and I sink deep into the current. By back rubs against the rough bed of the hole. The water is clear; I can see through to the surface. I must be at least ten feet down. There are only clouds cast against the blue sky, floating like the whipped whites in the blue batter when I helped with the Gallerson's wedding cake. The tracker jackers must not have seen me, or simply lost my scent. With relief, I swim into the sun.

The sounds of cicadas fill the morning air. I've been up barely two minutes. I let the hot air fill my lungs and I realize how hungry I am. It's humid, and the damp of my clothes won't help. I hoist myself onto the rocky shore of the brook and inch my way up the steep slope. My shirt clings to my skin, and although it's cool from being soaked in brook water I start to sweat under the sheen of the heavy black cloth.

As I reach the forest again it's clear my crazed path towards the brook was less than graceful. The silver corridor of beaten-back grass shines dimly in the little sunlight that dapples through the treetops. I need a plan. I left my entire kit at the clearing, although with all the other careers running for cover it's probably gone. They'd be stupid not to grab it, even in a panic. So I'll need to find new supplies, and that could take a couple hours or a couple days, depending on how many other careers are dead or lost. There could still be tracker jackers in the clearing, though the majority of them are probably chasing down whoever's unlucky enough to gain their attention. I wrack my memory for wilderness training... tracker jackers usually swarm to try and find a new hive site after they have eliminated all threats. I weigh on it for a minute, but decide to risk it. There shouldn't be too many of them left in the clearing, and there's probably some kind of sting ointment if I can find the others and make it back to the Cornucopia.

My left foot catches on something. I pull it forward, but whatever's holding it back doesn't give. A wire? It snakes up my shoe and around my ankle, where it tightens. A snare. Goddamn it. I kneel to untie it and see the extra loop. A snare in the shape of a figure eight. Katniss. Oh, Christ, that girl is clever. Of course she'd try and kill as many of us as possible by dropping the nest as we slept.

She tried to kill me. Any other place and time, that thought would ruin me, Katniss trying to take my life. But now I realize she has every justification. I've solidly chosen to remain a Career, partly for my own safety and partly out of fear of her.

Christ, if she ever found out about me and Cato...

I burrow into my pocket for the short paring knife he gave me. What if he's been stung? Or Clove? Or both of them? It'd just be me, who's only good with his fists, Glimmer, who's good at fuck all, the boy from 3, who can rewire mines but is too young to stand a chance-

A blood-curdling scream comes from the forest ahead. A scream I'd only ever heard at the reaping. Adrenaline swirls in my blood once more. I dig my knife into the knot of the snare and pry the wire in two, and bound into the forest. My instincts take over again. I've got to save her. She needs me, Career or not. I leap over logs and pitfalls, following my silver path to the clearing. The trees peel away and I spill into the shade of the massive oak. "Katniss!"

She's writhing on the ground, her braid coming undone and her pant leg in tatters. Has she been stung? "Katniss, what are you doing?" I scream. Why won't she budge? My kit is here, but so are all the other Careers'. If they're smart, they'll be back in no time to grab them. "Katniss, get out of here!" She glances up at me, as though I've got three heads. She's stung and already hallucinating. "You've got to leave! Go, Katniss! Run!"

I can see something in her snap. The clouds in her grey eyes clear away and she understands. "Run!" She stands up, jerkily, but manages to gain her ground. "Go, Katniss!" She gives me a final, piercing glare before she's disappearing into the forest. I can hear her crashing through the grass, although she's out of eyeshot, concealed in the forests' copses. The girl on fire has lost her nimble grace to the jackers' venom. But the crashes get softer and more distant with every new bound.

My first instinct is to run, chase after her and assure she's okay. That would make one time. Or should I simply toss out a loaf of bread halfway to her again, making her crawl through the cold rain to survive? My leg strides forward, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

"Peeta." A croak of my name, once. "Peeta." Twice. I'm momentarily tempted to bat the hand away and crash into the forest after her, but I know the voice saying my name a third time now. "Peeta, help..."

I turn around and catch Cato just before he loses his balance. His arms hang like a marionette that's lost its strings as they wrap around me limply. His expression is like a little kid's, hurt playing with sticks and stones. "Peeta, I got stung... help me..." He must not have heard me screaming at Katniss to leave. "You c-called me..." He's starting to shiver now; his face is streaming with blood from stings, and he's beet red and sweating. An allergic reaction, coupled with the normal symptoms of tracker jacker venom. "You told me to leave... to run... but I need help..." He's entirely delusional, and it's the only time I've been glad for it. Except he's on death's door.

"Cato, we're going to go back to the camp, alright? There should be some medicine in the supplies." I need to stay in the Careers' good books. Otherwise, I'm screwed to survive this mess. But something else is urging me to take care of him. I swallow hard.

"Am I going to... to die?" His voice is like a child's.

"No, Cato, you're going to be alright." I turn around and hunch his arm over my shoulder. "Lean on me. Can you walk?"

"My legs... they don't want to... I'll make them..." I figured that's as close to yes as I was going to get. It's only then, as I lean down to grab my kit, that I see Glimmer's body. Grey and bloated, like a melting statuette, skin with a sheen like polished stone. Eyes, empty pits.

I don't know what urges me on, but I know I can't let Cato become that. And Christ, of course there's no bow or quiver on Glimmer's body.

Katniss is armed, and we are screwed.

I haul the kit over my free shoulder and lead Cato to my silver path. It's then that Clove barrels out from the obscuring shadows of the forest and nearly collides with us. "Cato! Lover boy!" She catches her breath and pulls back a fallen lock of her black hair. Her hand jitters as it returns to her side; I see only a single sting in her palm. She'll be okay. "Christ, what's happened to him?" She stares, horrified, as she inspects Cato.

"I... need help..." His arm spasms around my shoulders.

I pull him closer and try to explains. "He must be allergic to-"

"-wasp stings, of course. He got stung once at the academy; ran into a nest of jackers during wilderness class." She dips down to pick up her and Marvel's kits. "Marvel's pretty bad, but nothing like this." She gestures to Cato. "I found some ointment in the supply pile. He'll be okay. The rest of us are back at camp." She straightens her hair again and her hands go akimbo. "Can you carry him? Do you even know how to fix him? Will the ointment work?" Her frown turns from frustration to sorrow. She's desperate.

"I've got him." I try to sound as confident as possible. "Listen, I need you to run to the camp and look for anything labeled 'epinephrine' or 'medical adrenaline'. They use it for treating allergic reactions. If it's there it should be in a little hypodermic needle. I have one at home for my shellfish allergy and I know how to use it." The last words I mouth. "Without it, he's probably a goner."

She nods, and tears off through the forest. Five seconds, and she's invisible again. We start to find our way through the grasses and roots. Cato's mostly silent now, but he slithers his arms around my kit and leans on me from behind. His head rests on his shoulder and his legs are able to walk reasonably. We trek, birds caroling overhead. Their world is pristine. It's only a short distance to the camp.

Why does Clove care so much for him? Is it because he's our leader, our common denominator? Is it another story of star-crossed lovers, a tip from their mentors to gain sponsors? Then again, why do I care for him? Because he tied me down and practically raped me? ... no. He's not a rapist. I hate to admit, but it wasn't rape. I swallow my pride. Do I care for him because he turned me against my only other possible ally? My true love? It's all so confusing. I hope she's alright. But she's clever, and wasn't stung as bad as this. There's probably some plant that can suck out the venom that's in the forest by 12. She'll figure something out. I can't help feeling guilty. But tributes can't afford guilt. It hinders survival.

We come to the edge of the forest and to the brook's shore, grey rocks bathing in the hot sunlight. I search for a place to cross, but the humidity clouds my mind with headache. It's unbearably hot. Christ, he'll probably overheat. "Cato, can you let go of my kit and sit down on the rocks awhile?" He says nothing, but I feel his weight come off my back. I sit down as he alights on the rocks, and then falls back, spread-eagled.

"Having trouble... help..." I grab hold of his shirt and tug it as hard as I can over his head. His chest is streaked in lines paper white and beet red, hives everywhere. "Peeta... save me," he pleads. I catch his eyes staring up at me. They're welling with tears. "I'm going to die... aren't I?"

"No, you're going to be fine." I can feel myself shaking on the last word. I reach down and loosen his belt to keep circulation going.

"Can't breathe... need air..." His visage turns a dark maroon. The tears begin to leak out of his eyes. Anaphylactic shock.

Without even thinking, I suck in the deepest breath I've ever held, filling every crevice of my lungs. I hold onto Cato's rough cheeks and wrap my lips around his, and force my breath into his lungs. He exhales, and I expel the breath through my nose and take in another deep draw.

I feel his tongue raking against my teeth. I have to control myself. I know better than this. But he tastes exactly as I remember. I force myself to resist, and I exhale as hard as I can into his lungs. Splashing comes from the brook behind me. "12!" I hear Clove's shrill cry.

Cato's exhalation is stronger this time, and his tongue probes deeper into my mouth. I gesture for Clove to come, swooping wildly with my arm. I hear the splashes quickly come closer and I release the seal between our lips. He faintly whispers as I surface, his bloodshot, brown eyes burrowing into my blue. "I love you."

I know it's the venom talking. He's not a romantic. But as Clove kneels by my side, I reply, even softer. "I know." He breath quickens.

"Is he gonna be alright?" She's panting from the run as she drops the needle into my hand. I break my silent exchange with Cato as she tugs on my shoulder. "He's going into anaphylactic shock; he can barely breathe." I read the needle's label quickly to make sure it's right; any mistake and Cato's done for.

EMERGENCY EPINEPHRINE: For treatment of deadly allergic reactions which may cause difficult breathing, hives, heart palpitations, severe cramps and confusion. Inject into thigh and elevate legs for optimum circulation. If severe symptoms persist after several hours, supplement with diphenhydramine and/or prednisone.

"Listen," I say to Clove. I can see the panic in her eyes, so I stay stoic as I can to calm her down. "Take his shirt to the brook and soak it. We need to cool him down." She nods and grabs the black garb, speeding off to the brook.

As soon as she's out of sight I lean in once more, and give him a final deep breath. The urge flies at me to dive into his mouth, but I bat it away. I surface from his lips. "This is going to hurt for a few seconds, but after that you'll be back to normal." An almost imperceptible nod.

I take my kit off my back and elevate his legs with it. Tearing his belt away, I tug down his pants. He's not wearing any underpants, and I don't have time to process why not before I see his massive erection.

I try to write it off as part of the anaphylaxis, but my mind knows better. I'm flattered. Impressed. I can't control my blush. But then I remember that every second brings him closer to death. I tear off the plastic cap shielding the needle and push it into a vein in his thigh. He yelps in pain, but his body only jerks slightly. I press the plunger as hard as I can. "Peeta! Help..." He moans as the chemical begins to circulate through his body. Almost immediately I can hear his breaths become deeper. Whatever it is, this epinephrine must be stronger than normal. Capitol-made. Of course it is. I pull up and fasten his pants as I hear steps up the slope.

"You're going to be alright, Cato," I assure him, as Clove returns with his shirt and wrings it out over his chest. The water spills over his muscular chest, where the redness begins to fade to pink. She folds the shirt neatly into a rectangle and drapes it over his forehead.

His eyes drill deeply into mine again, never breaking contact. "You saved me." It's a wheeze. I pull off my own shirt, suddenly conscious of my own heat, my skin drenched in sweat.

It's been barely two minutes and already the swelling is starting to recede from Cato's skin. "I can handle him from here, Clove," I say to her. "Head back to camp and tend to the others." She nods, but not without an inquisitive stare. It pierces into my mind. She crosses the brook again and heads for the Cornucopia.

"You saved me," he says again, voice strengthening.

As soon as Clove is out of eyeshot, I lean back toward his face. "What can I say? You protect me, I protect you." He cracks a smile and my mood lightens.

"Baker boy, you're mine." I can tell he's coming back to his senses.

"I know." I put a finger to his jawline. "I'm yours, Cato." I hesitate again. The realization floods through me that the whole of the country is watching. But something gives me the willpower to push through it. "I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?" His hand reaches into my hair and pulls me closer to him. "Anything at all?" His skin has returned to its normal pallor.

"Yes." He moves his head close and our lips touch. He prods his tongue against the entrance to my mouth, and I allow him in. He tastes sweet, and the scent of his sweat fills my nose.

He pulls away to whisper. "Thanks for saving my life, baker boy. How can I repay my little admirer?"

"Coming back to camp and getting better? Sleeping the rest off?"

"Alright." He pecks my lips again. "But let's stay here a little while." He turns onto his side and pulls me flush against him in the shade of the lofty trees.

I open my mouth to refuse, but the warmth of his body makes me reconsider. "If you're sure you'll be alright."

"Of course, I've got you, don't I?"

I snuggle into his side. "It almost makes me wish we'd never have to eventually kill each other."

"It's okay. I treat things I own with care."

And for the next few minutes, we pretend our love happens somewhere else.


	3. Untouchable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peeta runs away from the Career camp after a scare from Clove, and Cato comes to find him. In the end, there are three. Fluff, and then kinky lemon! CatoxPeeta, rating is very justified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bondagey kinky lemon, after Cato finds Peeta hidden among the rocks. If you don't like bondage, leave. Takes place the day after Katniss makes the supplies go boom rather satisfyingly. Muahaha. So yeah, enjoy the man lovins and sappery dappery sap.

It starts with the morning you weren't there. The blaze of the gamemakers' sun finds its target square on my face. The sunlight warms me, but the warmth of you against me has gone.

Instinctively my hand flies to the sword at my side. She's got you. I pull myself sit up, fingers trailing across the sheath. I can feel my muscles tense. She's got the one thing I made sure she couldn't get. She ruined our supplies, murdered our comrades and kept me from you. In the dark of the arena's cold night, I pulled you close into my stomach. My hands snaked through around your torso and I basked in the oven's warmth of our contact. You were mine, snuggled deep against me in the darkness, every ripple of your warm, sweet-smelling body flush against mine. I made sure the baker boy was untouchable. My chin buried in your golden hair, our feet intertwined, I whispered that you were mine. The boy who saved my life. My little admirer. My baker boy. And you whispered back that there was nothing you'd rather be except completely mine.

But I wake to find my arms empty.

At first the girl on fire sets my mind ablaze. Of course, she'd come to steal you away in the night after hearing the change in the rules. It wasn't enough that she'd destroyed your chances of winning by setting off the mines at our camp; she had to have you too. And now that two can win, you thought you'd never find your way home if you stayed with me, so what would be the use? You didn't consider who really cared for you, only whichever alliance would give you the greatest chance of homecoming. I know you don't love her. You didn't go after her when she was stung; you stayed back at my cry for help. You had the perfect avenue of escape to your girlfriend. There's nothing I could have done to stop you, waltzing around like your drunken mentor, in anaphylaxis and fading away from the world with every racing second. Instead, you saved my goddamn life. But now, have you had a change of your fickle heart? Has the pendulum swung back to your poor little huntress? Don't think that the girl on fire is on fire for you. She's a chessmaster, carefully moving her pawns.

And don't you dare fall for her again. You're still mine.

So when Clove returns with a breakfast of berries and nuts scavenged from the forest we made camp in, the fire Katniss Everdeen has set in my mind swiftly extinguishes. The knife in her hand is drenched in blood, though she returns without meat. I ask where you've gone as a ruddy drop dyes the dust. She only smirks as she watches my mouth fall slowly open and my eyebrows furrow. "Let's just say lover boy's not going to be that much of a threat anymore." The girl on fire wasn't your captor after all. I feign a chuckle as Clove lifts a purple berry to her lips.

At the last second, I decide not to tell her they're nightlock.

The cannon comes as soon as her body slumps against the tent floor, ripping through the arena as juice trickles down her lips. I told her I got the fucking higher grade in wilderness. I plunge my sword into her abdomen for good measure. I mangle as much as I can of her stomach, and grubbing her reddened blade from her lifeless hands I tear into her face. If that's how her family raised her to be, a two-timing, team-betraying, bloodthirsty little bitch, they don't deserve to get a pristine little cadaver in a plain brown box, the red Panemese flag draped over top, with a little card saying 'We respect and congratulate your daughter's confidence, courage and sacrifice'. No, they deserve to get her body how she's earned it to be; every slash, cut and tear marring her perfect flesh. Every slice that tears open her skin calms me further. Each thought of her future brings me to tranquility. She's dead, gone, hated by everyone and never going to be remembered.

But you're still gone, scared away from my caress.

The blood covers my arms up to my elbows when I've decided I'm finished. I wipe them in whatever's left untouched. Her crimson trickle seeps into her hair and down into her shoes, staining every piece of cloth on her skin maroon. You couldn't recognize Clove Hoasby if you tried. Not even the Capitol could fix this one. I gather the small stack of supplies we salvaged from camp and run through mental inventory as I wedge each into my kit. Spare tent, a set of anti-anaphylaxis drugs with the epinephrine missing, a flask, a coil of thick-gauged wire, a folding crossbow with bolts, a couple sets of emergency rations… Only one thing is missing, something you made sure to pick from the wreckage: a set of camouflage paints.

And then I realize how loud the cannon which sounds at the death of each tribute is. I may be a heavy sleeper- hell, you proved that by slithering from my grasp deep last night- but there's no way that cannon wouldn't have woken me.

You're okay. You're okay, and hiding, but I can find you.

Or so I hope.

I slide my kit over my shoulders as I leave the tent, the floor now soaked with the traitor's blood. Sure enough, as I delve between the trees of the forest's edge I hear the machined whirr of the hovercraft and the metallic clank of its claws' purchase as it drags the tent into its shining underbelly.

My heart drops when the realization hits me, staring out into nature's domain. You could be anywhere. The entire arena, and you'd blend perfectly in. Cake decorating must be more crucial to survival than it sounds. I feel my pulse staccato and my mind race as I contemplate what route you'd be most likely to take. It's uncomfortably warm as what of gamemaker's sunlight that sifts through the forest canopy pours onto me. I rest a hand on the tree beside me as I contemplate.

A crimson drop on the bark below my thumb catches my attention as it gleams, still wet, in the sunlight. Like a bloody blaze. But where there's a blaze, there's a trail to follow. I move forward into the forest, searching for another drop of you. And there it was, a meter ahead, perched upon the rough bark of an elderly oak. Suddenly, the trail reveals itself to me. An uneven path of grass, pushed back to expose the silvery undersides of the blades, bridges the gap between the trees and extend deep into the shrouding forest.

My pulse quickens. My feet move before my mind does. You never were the little fairy in the forest your girlfriend is. You might be able to hide yourself, but you forget to cover your tracks. Before I know it I've plunged deep into the forest as I follow your trail, my eyes searching for the silver as it snakes through the sanctuary below the shadowed sky. I break into a sweat, leaping across whatever obstacles the artificial nature throws in my path. They're not going to stop me from finding my baker boy.

All the while my mind can only focus on you. Finding you, caressing your soft, pale skin again, smelling bread and sweat on the freckles of your stomach, feeling you rutting against me like the first night I owned you. Our time together has only been a scant few days, but every faction of my mind has screamed to stand by your side since you first propositioned to join the careers at the Cornucopia. Now we're the only two careers left.

You could still choose her; go home to your precious little run-down coal mine hick haven. I have no doubt she could kill me. In a second I'd be on the ground, dead, arrow square in the center of my pupil. And then you'd just be the weight, trailing behind her as she disposes of the last of us, swept up, cleaned up and shipped home in our prefabricated coffins. You could go home to your poor little slum and live out your days baking and decorating, every day feeling the cold of your bed with nobody to wrap his arms around you and keep you untouchable. You could carry the guilt of killing your truer love, the man who protected you and tossed all other opportunities for survival to the wind, the man you led out of the forest to save his life, the man who owns you, on your shoulders.

But you can't handle guilt. That's why you became mine, when you surrendered your secrets to me on our first night together. You couldn't handle eating, drinking and killing with us without holding your end of the deal up. That's why you told us. You couldn't handle the guilt of abandoning me and saving her, betraying your alliance and your owner. That's why you gave me the adrenaline that saved my life. You couldn't handle the guilt of following Clove's demands and leaving peacefully when she told you you'd served your purpose last night. That's why you stood up against her and forced her to attack you rather than letting you get off scot free. So you won't be able to handle the guilt of betraying me, who's followed you all this way.

The silvery forest path you left for me winds on and on into the shadowy foliage. The further I run the darker it becomes as the trees and grasses grow thicker, choking out the manmade sun. I can hear the rush of water in the distance, muffled to a whisper by the array of leaves and trunks. The river must be ahead soon. The crest of a hill meets me, and as I peer down into the shallow valley below I can see the trees thin out as soil turns rocky; at least half a mile in the distance. There the river rushes and the sunlight's patches grow larger. In advance, I run my eyes down your silver strand, dodging by trees and pitfalls as it cascades through the grasses.

A dark creature appears suddenly in my eyes' periphery, halfway to the edge of the forest. It swings its head from side to side and I duck in the shade of a bush. Thankfully, it doesn't look up. Through the space allowed by the bush's leaves, I see it swing its head back as it finds your silver trail. A black ponytail swings to either side as Katniss Everdeen snakes through the grasses to find you. Frantically I pull through my kit, finding purchase on the crossbow. I can't have her taking my baker boy from me. I've got a clear shot to her from my near-perfect vantage point. Carefully I load the bolt cartridge into the bow and steady it against the strongest branch in my way, training the scope on her neck. She pauses, shaken, and my finger snaps deep into the trigger. As the bolt tears through the air and across the distance between us, another flash appears on the silver trail, dark arms latching below her head. I hear the snap of her spine an instant before the bolt finds its new target, sinking deep into Thresh's neck as he and Katniss fall to the ground.

Lifeless.

Two cannon bursts, and a thousand bets lost. Katniss Everdeen and Thresh Duncan, the girl on fire and the loner boy from eleven, are dead. That makes the three of us left, and now only one of us may be victorious. But I've still got to find you, and spend as much time as we can before, well-

"Attention tributes," the voice of Seneca Crane booms through the air to the final three. "There has been another slight alteration to the rules of the Games. The previous rule change allowed two tributes from the same district to be crowned if they are the last tributes remaining." I know it's been revoked now. Why do they have to make special note? There's no teams left anyway. It's null and void. "There has been a slight alteration to this rule. The final two remaining tributes will be crowned victor regardless of their district. Thank you, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

More people in the Capitol must have creamed their pants on that first night than I thought.

That, or our sponsors have lent quite a pretty penny to Seneca.

I fold the crossbow into its neat, compact rectangle and wedge it back into the confines of my kit. It's curious; the hovercrafts haven't yet come for their bodies. I nimbly fox down the slope into the valley. It's a full ten minutes' walk, and still nothing. Is it simply too deep in the forest to collect them? Or is there something they want me to see?

I come close to the fallen as the trees begin to thin out. There she lies, her neck bent at a jarring angle, pale cheek caressed by the forest floor. Thresh slumps ungracefully over her, bolt jutting into the air, neck wound still seeping sickly red blood as the indifferent birds twitter on above. Here you could hear the river in earnest, the crash of the falls pounding through the spaces of the trunks. In her right hand Katniss carries her bow. In her left… a shining brushed metal canister. A sponsor's gift.

I wrench the canister from her rigid hand and feel the icy sap of her fingers. We'd never come this close in life. With a clear view of her I can see the warmth of her pale skin as it basks in the dappled forest sunlight, a spray of freckles just under each stone-solid grey eye. Her black locks fall at random as they frame her face in perfect chaos. The girl on fire is stunning, even in death. I tear myself away as I pull the canister open. A note lies atop a another metal canister.

He's wounded and painted.

-H

I snag the note by its corner and carefully slide it into my pocket. My heart starts to race. If you need medicine, could I find you in time? As though on cue the gamemakers decide to send a small, lazy breeze in my direction. The silver trail begins to rise up, silvered glass slowly puffing back to normalcy. Time's ticking. Thinking quickly, I slough hefty Thresh off of Katniss, taking the kit from her back. She would want for whatever she has to help you. I'm about bound off on the quickly-disappearing trail before I notice her collar glint in the sunlight. A bronze pin, a mockingjay with an arrow in its beak, the token of 12. Something to remember her by. I detach it and let it slide into my pocket. I leave their bodies behind me and follow the silver path through the ever-thinner forest.

I remember the canister in my hand. It spins open at my pull, revealing a simple hypodermic needle full with a sickly purple fluid. A Capitol logo on the label.

EMERGENCY MRSA TREATMENT: For fast, effective treatment of severe symptoms caused by methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus infections, commonly known as staph infections. Elevate wound at least five inches. Inject into largest blood vessel nearest wound.

Shit. Staph. If I can't find you now- I spin the cap back into the cylinder and begin to sprint toward the edge of the forest, where the sun shines as the river reaches its falls. The heat of the sun in its full intensity strikes me all over, and I'm sweating. Where the hell could you be? There's no trail to follow you by anymore.

A single rosy drop on the slab of rock proves me wrong. There's another, a meter in front. Like breadcrumbs. A smile pulls at my face. You're going to be alright, and I'm going to find you and fix you, and make you mine like you've never been before. Gingerly I follow the trail of bloodstains as they pepper the narrow stones of the river's shore. Every rock, every tree, every tuft of grass in the meadow comes under my scrutiny as I pass by it. I know one of them is mine.

The bloody trail stretches along the riverside for what feels like miles. How have you hidden yourself this well from me? I'm getting too frustrated to even find the next dot. Where is it? I can't lose you.

A croak from beside my foot. "Cato?" My heart palpitates and I stare down in shock. There lies a pair of eyes a piercingly innocent blue, jutting out from the rock. "Cato, it's-" I see your lips move, but you can't finish your sentence.

Because by then, I'm already on my knees and kissing you deeply. Your face is streaked with black and grey, indistinguishable from the blocks and stones that surround your perfect face. I pull away and you whimper. "I'm sorry for leaving you. Clove-"

"Peeta, it's alright. You're mine again now and we can win." Your precious smile beams through the camouflage, lighting a heavy fire in my chest. You push up to press your lips against mine once more, hungry for a taste of me, but I push you away. "Where are you hurt?" Your smile drops, dejected.

"My leg, but my arm is much worse." You hands slither from underneath the river rocks and come into my grasp as I help you up. The feel of your fingers in mine reassures me. I've found you again, and I'm going to make you better. You're rosy all over and your blonde locks are swept back, slick and gleaming with sweat. As you rise to your feet you fall into me, and I hold you close as you limp along and lean into me.

"Where's the infection?" For a second, you're puzzled, but you see the metal canister in my hand and your visage clears as you deduce the origin of my knowledge.

"My arm; I got a scrape coming through the forest on the day of the tracker jackers. It must be worse than I thought."

We come to the shallowest part of the river, and you point out the spot where not a week ago we lay in the shade on the shore. "Funny how the tables turn," you joke.

"I figure my life debt will be repaid. You saved my like once. It's only fair I save yours."

"And then once you've magically cured me we'll make love all day in the sunshine?" Your painted eyebrow perks.

"Wouldn't be the first for the Games." I pull you down to the edge of the river to sit as you laugh.

"That was Finnick Odair, though. It was almost obligatory." I dip my hands in the river water and begin to smear away the paint that hides your face.

"And he was 14." Your forehead shows, bright red.

"So was the girl."

I push you down onto the rocks. "You're burning up, Peeta."

"But your magical medicine will make me all better, right?" I tug on your shirt and pull it away. Your entire torso is beet red, oven hot to the touch as I spread the cool river water over it. Through your pants a ragged tear exposes a deep cut into your tender thigh, and I wipe away the blood and grime with the hem of my shirt. It's Clove's doing, still fresh and bleeding, too fresh to be infected.

"You said your arm was worse." You lift your right arm and I grasp it as it shakes. I can feel my brow furrow in anger. There, along the backside streaking up from your elbow glares a weeping crimson stroke, bordered by clusters of bright blisters and hives. You wince as I blow on the festering wound. "You left it raw?" I glare into your soft blues but you glance away, keeping from eye contact.

"It was healing alright at first, scab and all. I didn't think it was serious enough to-"

"Of course it's serious enough to warrant fixing up, baker boy. I ought to slap you." Now that I remember it, you had been constantly fidgeting with your sleeve every day since you saved me.

"You were more important! You were nearly dying in my hands. I had no choice by to take care of you!" My frown turns sharp.

"And look what it cost you now!" My voice rises involuntarily.

"So what? I was just supposed to abandon you in the forest?"

I lean in close to your defiant face and nearly spit in disgust. "No, but you can't just lose all concern for yourself like that." I sigh, pushing all my frustration out with my breath, and pull the hypodermic needle out from the canister. "I don't like to see things I own broken."

"Do you just replace them if they break?" I peer down, and at first your face is straight but now your smile is sly.

"No, I fix them and love the fuck out of them even more than I already did." I flick the needle's carafe to ensure the medicine hasn't settled. "Now shut your fucking trap, this is going to hurt."

"It's good to have you back." Your last words are muffled against my hand, and I can feel your whimper as I prick your skin and renew your life, pushing the plunger down as far as it would go. As I lay down on the rocks beside you, you wince as I tug the needle from your skin. "I heard three cannons. Who's dead, besides…" You hesitate, "Katniss?"

You're deductive. Seneca wouldn't have bothered otherwise. "Clove and Thresh. Which just leaves the girl from 5, Tezla, you and me." I turn on my side and inch closer to you, but you just stare off into the baby blue afternoon sky. There's a beat of silence.

"Did you kill her?" Your voice is quiet and concerned.

"No, she got lucky. Nightlock. I made sure she got what she deserved though, what with scaring you off-"

You cut me off. "I meant Katniss."

"No." I feel my voice become smaller. "Thresh got to her-" first. My instincts keep me from spouting the final word. "I killed Thresh." Your frown lightens.

"Good." You sit up, and try to pull yourself to your feet but fall back into the rocks. My hands are there to catch you, and I help you to stand. I consider the pin hidden in my pocket. Not yet.

"We need to find shelter." I toss my arm around your shoulders and we move slowly into the river together, wading through the current and over the worn stones, trusting each other's touch. For a while, we're nervously silent, and only as we come to the far shore do you pipe up.

"Do you think we can win?" You glance to me and your innocent blues are nervous. "Get out of here, together?"

"Of course." I caress the tender muscle of your back to assure you as we enter the forest, and I can feel the shiver I send racing down your skin. "And every day for the rest of our lives we'll be set, together. You'll tend to me, make me soup when I'm sick, probably do one of those romantic breakfast in bed spiels. Every day you'll feel safe in my arms and hear nobody else's words but mine telling you what to do with those big, strong hands of yours." We chuckle together. "And every night, we'll fuck the darkness away until the sun rises and you're still begging for more of me, worshipping every part of my body." I feel your shiver again.

"Sounds like an interesting proposal. I'm just concerned about being able to walk after all that." You smirk, and your blush is hot enough to smoke.

"You know you want it, to feel me deep inside you under the starlight." Your blush turns maroon, but you yawn. "Don't tell me you think that's boring."

"No, of course not." Your chuckle warms me in the deepest confines of my soul. "It's just… the medicine must be making me drowsy."

"Here, let's camp for a while." I ache to pull you close to me again, knowing every part of you surrenders to my hands.

"What about Tezla?" You've got a point. I quickly search for a hidden place to camp, and my eyes happen across the secluded entrance to a cave on your right, hidden among a spray of cattails and vines.

"Here." I peel away the vines and thorns, pulling you down into the tight confines of rock. We pull deep into the cave as it flattens out a few feet into the ground. There's no time to explore before you're mewling against my chest, and I push you down onto the cave floor. On a smooth expanse of dry stone I tug you close to me, burying my nose deep in your golden locks, soft pearl strands in the little light the gamemakers can force into our new safe haven.

There's the smell, of bread and sweat. Of you. "Cato," you whisper, "we don't have to sleep right now if you don't want to." My mind's eye can see your smirk.

"Shut up. You've proven you can't be left alone." My arms snake around your sun-warm chest, and I pull you as close into me as I can without smothering you completely. You chuckle and I shush you. "Sleep for now."

I make sure that my little baker boy is untouchable.

\----  
iixii  
\----

The light is gone when I hear your voice beam through the chilling cave's air. "Cato?" Five hours were lost, and the gamemakers decided that was time enough for night to swallow up the arena. You were out like a light in my arms, stolen away from me in your sleep by the medicine that kept death from stealing you away. I kept you wrapped close into my torso as your puffing breaths fell softer and softer from your lips, each new rise and fall of your strong chest inviting me to join you in the paradise of sleep. And just as I manage to succumb to sleep… "Cato, are you awake?" A cutting whisper.

"Now I am." I feel your writhe body turn over in my arms as you ferret up my body to reach eye level, never breaking precious contact. "You feeling better?"

"I can't even feel a scar on the back of my arm." Instead of running your fingers over your wound, however, you trail them over my cheek. "I had a nice dream, Cato." There's no light to see your innocent blues by, but i know now their pure demeanor is deceiving.

"Yeah, about what?" Your body ruts close to mine. I feel you grow warmer against my touch.

"Your little proposal."

"Oh, remind me again, my little admirer?"

Our lips are close. "We win, get out of here, live together, and every day I do what I do best."

"Kiss me?" I attempt to bridge the narrow gap, but your stubborn lips keep moving.

"Take care of you. There at your every order, by your side at your whim."

"Why, because you're my submissive little pet?"

"Because I love you." You cock your head and tuck in close, sending sparks flying between us as our heavy, soaking lips finally touch.

My voice is a ghostly, wet whisper as we pull away. "You forgot one minor detail, baker boy."

"That is?"

"Me fucking you senseless every goddamn night." You shudder but a press comes into my thigh.

"Of course; in my dream I worshipped your cock like the Capitol worships the Games." Your hands tug wildly at the corners of my shirt and I let you peel it away, tossing the shapeless cloth into the cave's unseen limits. Our chests are bonfires against the icy air, rippling bodies pressed flush together. Every touch is a firework as your hands scour up and down my spine.

"I bet you'd like to try that right now, huh?" I almost purr at the thought.

"Of course, Cato. I'm so goddamn horny." You almost growl.

"That's too bad."

"What?" The passion and lust of your voice is gone.

"Strip. Now." There's a swift second of silence. "I said now." My chest is shocked by the freezing night air as you pull away, but a deep, dirty warm grows inside me as I hear your pants shuck off. "Belt." Another second of silence. "Peeta, give me your goddamn belt now, or God help me you'll never have the privilege of worshipping me." The cool metal slides against my fingers and I snatch it from your palm. I sit up, cross legged on the dry, rough stone.

"What are you-" I silence you with my free hand and my palm wets in the aftermath of our kiss. I slide the belt into your mouth and fasten it behind your neck, fasting it tight to keep you gagged open and silent.

I want to see your eyes, I want to feel the fear in them, of being totally at my disposal.

I know the people of Panem are watching, as just then the artificial moon hovers over the cave's entrance, flooding light into our hideout. I can see how hard I've made you and I can't help but laugh at the pure pride of your length jutting hard into the cold stone night. "Peeta's been a very bad little baker boy today, hasn't he?" Your breath is rough and ragged against the leather trap in your mouth.

"Kneel." Your knees strike the floor of the cave and I'm staring down into your pleading blue eyes, welling slowly on the sides. "He wants to be punished for being a bad boy, doesn't he?" After a second you nod.

For an instant I'm worried. I'm not going to rape you. But my ripping stare into your eyes never ends, and with another nod which moves your pleading pupils I have all the consent I'll need. "Hands." There's no hesitation this time, your hand flying together in front of you as I snake my own belt from its denim loops and wrap it around your wrists to keep them immobile. "Lay down in front of your owner."

The white moonlight cascades down the curves and cuts of your irresistible frame as you struggle to follow my orders, earning a brushburn as you worm against the sandpaper stone, whimpering softly as your proud cock is smothered by the scratch of rock. The taut globes of your ass nearly shine in the bright light. I slowly set my hand on them, rubbing back and forth across your tender, untouched skin as your ragged breaths become slow and calm, subdued by your owner's loving caress.

I slowly lift my hand away and your entire body twitches in anticipation. You want it. As swiftly as I can I smack my hand against your ass, a loud crack resonating across the stone walls of the cave. You cry out sharply. "That one was for leaving." I carefully knead my hand across your pained flesh before smacking it harder. "That one was for not killing Clove right there on the spot." Your cry is louder and longer before it dies away, but I'm itching to revel in your pain again. Another solid smack. "That one was for not caring enough about yourself." It's a rhythm now, at every beat my lust burning hotter. Smack. "That one was for hiding from me." Your yelps have grown weak and unsatisfying at every new pulse of pain. I pull my hand back as far as I can before it flies into your flesh. "That one was for not begging for my forgiveness." I can no longer wait for you to even finish your scream. Smack. "That one was for trying to take control." Smack. "That one was for talking back to me." Your ass glows pink against the moonlight which casts all else ghostly white. A final smack sweeps across your reddened skin. "That one was because you're my total bitch, and you know you wanted it." Your pained groan sounds into the night, but I can feel the pleasure in your voice.

"Turn over." You struggle to flip against the rock floor, but convulse your body enough to face the ceiling, proud cock still refusing to subdue. "I see baker boy enjoyed his little treat, didn't he?" You nod slowly. "And baker boy is very happy to be with his owner again, isn't he?" I kneel close to the shining lavender head of your throbbing hard length as I shuck away my own pants. "Looks delicious." I spit into my palm and begin to stroke myself as I peer as the feast before me. "Another one of your little sweets, saved just for me?"

My free hand ghosts up your length and spasm into my palm, whimpering against my touch. "Don't worry," I chuckle a little to myself, "I'll spare you the eclair puns." Your breathing speeds up. You know it's no time to laugh. "As long as I can have a second taste."

Your groan is louder than any other as I descend on your hardened length, slowly pumping and smoothing the base while teasing your swollen head with my tongue and lips. With each new groan I come closer to my climax. I release my hand, wet with my precome, from around my cock and slither three fingers into your gagged mouth. I feel your tongue in every crevice of my fingers, aching for every bit you can taste.

Involuntarily you begin to buck into my grip and mouth, desperate for my warm tongue to explore every inch of your length. Your mouth wets my fingers into prunes as you suck on them the best you can, straining to close your lips over the belt that forces them apart. I feel your swelling cock grow larger and longer in my mouth, and your virginity shows. It's barely been three minutes before you're ready to spend in my mouth.

But I'm not letting you come yet. It's not over until I say. I slither from your length, letting its heavy warmth seep out between my lips. I steal my fingers from your mouth and drag them down across your chest, painting lines of your passioned saliva down your hot chest, so warm it seems it should sizzle. Carefully my index finger trails down your thigh and to your warm hole, where it slowly presses against your puckered entrance. "Virgin?" I see you nod in the moonlight, but your head tosses back again as I grip your cock with my free hand and begin to teasingly stroke. "Good. Now you'll be marked as mine forever." I grind my finger into your pulsing flesh and harden my grip around your length.

You're in agony as my first finger slips inside you, swallowed by your tight warmth. I slowly work you open, shifting around in the crevice of your warm virgin ass, stretching your ring wider and wider. With each deeper stretch delving into your depths your moans vibrate straight through your body and your ring tightens around my single finger. You're bucking into my hand again as my second finger pokes at your entrance.

"Ready for the next?" All that escapes your lips is a serious of disjointed squeals and moans, but you nod through to signal your consent. My second finger joins my first, plunging in to the hilt, massaging you deep inside. There's no pause between your outbursts now, only a steady flow of sweet passionate whimpers. Even though my hand has long since left my cock to pleasure you, I'm rock hard, jutting out into the night, pulsing harder at every sound which escapes your body.

Just as my final finger brushes along your hole to join the others, I can feel you start to shake in my hands as the my two fingers deep inside you find your prostate, stroking up and down, teasing. You're bucking with wild abandon into my hand now, your hot moans climbing in ecstasy and volume as I stroke you faster and faster deep inside and on your length.

I dip to encase your purple head with my lips just as your orgasm rips through your being, forcing you to scream out in pure euphoria as every shot of your essence pours into me. Your bitter salt covers my tongue and every crevice of my hungry mouth, coating me completely with your taste. I sit up, and smiling at your dishevelment, sweating in waterfalls, your hair unkempt, gagged mouth breathing in heavy rags as you come down from your heaven, and decide that you're ready.

I spit your essence out onto my palm and carefully wet my aching length. "Flip over, Peeta." I can see your intimidation in the way your innocent blue eyes, panicked, trace down my swollen cock. "Scared?" You shake your head after a moment. Little gay boys always lie. You slowly shift onto your belly. "Present your ass to its owner." As your buttocks climb towards the cave ceiling, you pant like the bitch in heat you are. "Are you ready for me, baker boy?" Your nod is so small it barely registers. I reach to loosen the belt that gags you and it slithers from your mouth to collar around your neck. "I want to hear you scream my name."

"Cato, Cato, Cato, Cato…" A river of my name springs from your lips as I move my hands to rest on your hips. "Do it, do it now, I need it so badly. I need it, I need it…"

"Need what?" Let's play with the baker boy, shall we? My cock head, slicked with your come, is full square with your tight, open hole.

"I need to feel you inside me." Your voice is a miserable wet rasp, hot and heavy with lust. "Please Cato, do it."

"Beg. Beg me to fuck you deep in your ass." My cock slowly swirls around your puckered entrance and you writhe as the warmth and wet.

"Fuck me, fuck me, please, I need your cock, I need your hard cock deep in my ass, I need to feel it inside me, I need to take your cock." Silenced pants. Whispers.

Ever so gingerly I push forward into you, rocking into your wet, stretched opening. The flare of my cockhead stretches your ring, and you yelp as my head stretches your hole to its apex. Quickly I'm swallowed inside your tight warmth, pushing deeper and deeper with every inch. The harder I push, the louder you scream.

"Cato, Christ, fuck me now, fuck me…"

I'm only halfway inside you when my head brushes over your prostate and your back arches in ecstasy. The tourniquet feel of your oven nearly makes me explode right then and there. "Peeta, Peeta…" I can't form a sentence. I thrust in as hard as I can, but three quarters is as far as you can take me, your moans and yelps swelling my cock further. I pull out slowly, down to the first inch, and with all the strength in my body I thrust into you again. "You're so goddamn tight…" A trickle of sweat pours down my cheek as a rhythm develops, an ever-faster tempo of push and pull, release and engage, thrust and fuck. My hand grasps your collar and your head whips back, joining the beat.

I wrap my free hand around your cock, length hardened once more by every trail over your prostate as my cock trails inside you. We reach a staccato and my hand is rubbing you toward oblivion faster and faster, accelerating by the second. "Cato, I'm about to… I'm about to come-" Your final word is lost in a scream as you come again, pouring over my pumping hand, the second time tonight. The same euphoria speeds out from your cock and prostate and elevates your heart and mind into electric pleasure.

Your ring tightens around me as your cock spills onto the cold stone floor. "Peeta, get ready, baker boy… get ready to feel me." I can feel the edge, and I smash as hard as I can into you, a string of curses emanating from my lips. "You're so fucking tight, my little admirer… my baker… my Peeta-" I shout the final word as I'm thrown over the edge by your warmth, ribbons descending into your deflowered body. "You're mine, you're mine, you're marked, you're mine…" I quiet to a whisper as you pant in the darkness, the feel of my essence filling your every nook as I pull slowly from your confines.

I carefully alight on the rocks as you smile at my every glance, devilish blue finally fulfilled. "Cato, that was-"

"Wonderful? Euphoric? Amazing? Fantastic?" I lean close into your mouth as I undo your collar. "I'm pretty sure the heavens descended on earth." Our lips neap together and I revel in the wetness on yours. A quick, chasté lap, but you whine for more and I have to tear myself away as I undo the belt which holds your hands fast. "How do you feel?"

After a pause, "Starlike." I can't help but laugh.

"Starlike?" I ruffle through my kit for a blanket, and wrap it snugly around us both to fend off the night's cold with our naked, insulated touch.

"A little hungry too." You yawn deeply.

"We'll have time to cover that in the morning, little baker boy. Maybe you can bake a thing or two?" As my arms slither around your writhe torso, I hear no dry chuckle or sly response. Sleep has already called you away.

There's no matter; he can have you for now. All I want is for you to be untouchable in my arms.


End file.
